The Chronicles Of Underland
by lalalyds2
Summary: A series of unrelated oneshot stories that rely on the jumbled musings of a mad woman, and will include whatever characters or AU's she currently fancies. Be prepared for pale queens, murderous big...egos, ticking gods, madly-hatted gingers, and the occasional appearances of one grinning feline. Reads and reviews appreciated.
1. Watch The Cracks (Mirana&Tarrant)

_Hello everyone! So this story is a collection of oneshots I haven't written yet, each focusing on whichever character has captured my fancy as of late. It doesn't have a chronological order, and will include AU's which I will warn you about in these beginning author's notes, so if you don't read those, you'll be rather confused. ;)  
This story today focuses on Mirana and gives a slight character study behind the eyes of Tarrant Hightopp. Written for the lovely and wonderful tumblr blogger mxrmoreal.  
Sorry this is so late, dearie. I hope it was almost worth the wait!_

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Watch The Cracks

* * *

Days are starting to run into each other.

Today, there's a black forest being chopped down, a country in turmoil, and a murderous witch living under the crown's protection.

Some would call it Underland's normal.

You call it wrong.

Just yesterday, or perhaps it happened tomorrow, Iracebeth of Crims was halfway pardoned.

Sent away to some secluded desert, rarely to be seen unless the queen requests counsel.

A far kinder punishment than you desired, but you don't make the laws.

You make hats.

You _made_ hats.

Hard to work when everything's in shambles.

Now, you watch helplessly as your father's hands tremble over thread and material. The once smooth knuckles cracked and swollen from hard labor. The nimble fingers that once wove magic in a hat brim now shake the needle.

You watch as your mother stands in a kitchen she does not know, eyes far away and distant, still stuck in a glass cage.

You hug your siblings and feel a height they've never been before, and you talk on and on for ages because they don't have much to say but they've missed so _much_.

You try to explain the world as it is now but you're rubbish at it, because you don't really know either.

You've never been one for logic or routine, but you cling to it.

Anything to keep the world right.

All the best people are bonkers, but you fear you're going mad.

There's a rage in you.

An inferno that hasn't been quenched by tea or riddles or verdicts.

This is not fair.

This is not _just_.

These thoughts torment you in all your waking moments, of which there are many, as you cannot sleep.

They shout within you at every step, and every strike of the axe against the falling forest reminds you of a hooded executioner and a moat that was always and constantly filled.

You shouldn't be here.

The memories clamor about you, and it's too much, _too much_ —

If you have to swing the axe again, its target would not be wood, and it would not breathe once you'd stopped swinging.

You drop it, a dull thud, then it's gleaming innocent yet malignant in the charred grass.

You let your feet take off, not caring where, so long as it's not _here_.

They take you to the edge of the forest, farther from the din, closer to the lake that ripples silver, a wetter version of the sky.

You stand.

Breathe.

The fires that licked your brain and stole your reason recede, rise higher when you remember it was here.

Your capture, hauled to Red Queen to play dress up with the childish tyrant.

You'd saved _her_ , of course, so it was worth it.

But it doesn't erase the memory of the wait, or the death sentence you still feel hanging around your neck.

Bile stains your tongue; you twitch as gold bleeds into your vision.

An axe fells a tree, very near.

You whirl around, wary, stalk to the figure hacking up a storm.

It's the Queen, a manic flurry of white and dirt as she demolishes all around her.

It gives you pause, then her weapon fills your ear and you will scream anything to stop the sound.

"Majesty," you say quietly instead, ice and daggers at the foolishly kind monarch who let a nightmare survive twice.

Startled, she jumps at the sound, turns quickly.

The fury dies in your throat.

Dark circles under exhausted eyes, cheeks hollow and collarbones deep, she is a collapse just verging.

"Good day," you mutter.

She just nods, the ever present smile replaced by a line of weariness.

She returns to her chopping, you stumble away.

Something soft thrums in your chest, faint and only slightly linked to your mind.

There's one thing in your thoughts now, and only one thing.

Mirana is cracking.

You just hope she won't shatter.

* * *

Marmoreal is cold.

Marble complains in elegant clicks as your shoes abuse their polished surface.

You don't hate it here, but you are far from comfortable.

The nobility float past, wraithlike and somber.

Your friends cannot lift the gloom, despite their many efforts.

Perhaps it is you that dampers the atmosphere and keeps the laughter away.

You have what you wanted, you have your family, but first came loss and now comes sharp reminders of the absence.

Nothing is like you imagined it'd be, and the universe will not shift to your favor.

The thoughts steal your sleep and eat up your dreams, you try to starve their intrusions by wandering aimlessly through the quiet halls.

You quote the Carpenter's essays and the Walrus's songs to combat the silence.

You're interrupted mid stanza by a crash followed by a curse.

A turn, a skip, and a hop later, you find the late night culprit.

The queen, sleeves of her dressing gown bunched up around her elbows, kneeling to clean a spill of dark purple and fennel head.

"Your majesty, it's nearly five hours from any sort of decent time to be awake." Your handkerchief rather useless against the runny puddle, you try regardless.

She smiles softly, slowly, delay in her seemingly effortless charm.

"I was trying to work on a potion for my sister's..." She pauses delicately. " _Condition_. I suppose I lost track of the night."

You grimace, both at the mention of Iracebeth and the dripping cloth in your hand.

She takes it from you, a real grin adorning her features this time and wrings it out in the sink, suppressing a gag at the liquid globbing at the bottom.

"You really ought to get some sleep," you say, she brushes away the concern with fluttering fingers.

"I will, but first, I think I've almost got it..."

A dash of pink dust, dollop of something blue, she avoids the purple vial at your warning tut.

"What are the ingredients?" You ask, arms folding under your chin as you settle onto a stool more comfortably.

"Crushed particles of frozen fire, the depression of a daisy, a liquidated rose that grew from a gravestone, the tongue of a miniature giant, a toadstool's seventh son, a dead thief's stolen jewel, and... A bit of everything else." She drifts off, coloring at how long the list goes on.

"This must take a long time to create, even without fetching all the ingredients," you muse.

She shrugs but the weariness slips through.

"I'm happy to do it."

"Are you though?"

The question was not meant to sting; regardless you know it did. And you cannot apologize, for it's a foreign injury that only she could explain and probably never would.

She sips from a porcelain teacup instead, then gasps in scandalized horror.

"Oh—how rude of me—care for some tea?" She asks quickly. "I have several healing poultices I need to mix together before I slumber, but I can easily make you one as well—"

"Unnecessary, but appreciated," you interrupt, standing. "I shouldn't bother your important work, thank you very much for your company."

A smile happens.

Her dimples warm your tired bones a shade happier.

"Most welcome, goodnight."

You walk to the door, hesitate the last step out.

"Majesty, you should really sleep too."

"In a bit, I just have to finish this, there are so many in need of healing."

"Must you heal them all yourself?"

A pause.

You haven't moved, but you've made a misstep again.

"I suppose..."

"Why?"

Silence.

You've fallen, down that dark hole filled with insulting and ungrateful brutes.

You turn, regret heavy in your eyes.

She refuses to see it, won't meet your gaze.

"Goodnight."

It's quiet and final.

"Goodnight, your majesty."

You leave, wander through the cold corridors once more, returning to colder chambers.

Your mind no longer caught up in past grievances and present problems, you simply wonder.

About her majesty, the gentle care taker.

But while she's taking care of everyone else, who is taking care of her?

* * *

The queen is a generous monarch.

Graciously hosting you and your family as your house is several sizes too small, and now she's building you a new one.

Quite literally.

The chessmen long gone for the day, she is still here, on the roof, whatchamacallit in one hand, nail for the railing in the other.

You work alongside her, very often distracted by the view circling around you.

You can't help it, it's astonishing.

A Hightopp house, smack dab in the middle of a lake.

Permanent magic keeping it afloat and dry, the walkway invisible on top of the water. It should feel isolated, but it doesn't.

It makes the world seem a bit more impossibly possible and open, if a bit more confusing, and a lot more fantastical.

It's something you once dreamed of and had desired ever since.

You're rather amazed she remembered you telling the dream, it seems such a long time ago, but very, very glad.

"Could you possibly hand me another nail, please?" She asks politely, bent over a board. You hand it to her, frowning nervously at the rather precarious position she's leaning into.

"Be careful, majesty."

"Tarrant," she says lightly. "We've been through enough; you can call me Mirana, you know."

You shake your head vigorously.

"T'isn't proper, your highness."

She sighs, goes back to hammering.

"No, I suppose not."

You work together in silence, until you finally insist you both need a cuppa and she reluctantly acquiesces.

"Iracebeth's coming to visit soon," she says softly, wincing at the rage sure to boil within you.

Shockingly, it is only a simmer.

Iracebeth has hurt you in many, many ways, but Mirana is here and her presence always soothes, and the past is slowly starting to release its grip on you.

"You don't need her counsel," you say, unable to stop your teeth from gritting.

You are moving forward but not quite ready to forgive. Perhaps you never will be.

"I do, but not this time."

"Then why is she coming?"

"Because I'd like her company."

"Why?"

You don't understand, and her melancholic smile just confuses you more.

"Because, she's my best and only friend."

* * *

It's later, she's still here.

Working.

If you're being honest with yourself, it hurts that she doesn't consider you a friend.

If you're denying it and pretending your heart is stinging for a different reason, she's been here too long and needs to return home.

You appreciate the help, but you'd prefer a bit more independence.

That is definitely the reason her continued presence irks you, the only reason.

You head to the roof, frustration and denied emotion slowing your steps.

It immediately fades as you see her, exhaustion etched even into the folds of her dress.

You know she's been working herself to the bone, but you hadn't realized the price had been so steep on her health.

She is a pale death walking.

Everything you'd felt before is replaced with concern.

"Majesty, it's getting late," you say.

"I know, and I do hope I'm not intruding too much, but I've almost gotten this last part finished."

"You need rest, your highness."

She turns, leans back as she sees the conviction and worry in your sight.

"I'm fine."

"Balderdash. Whether you think we're friends or not, I care about you, and you need to take a break."

She winces, leans back heavier against the rail.

"About that, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just—I only meant—well Tarrant, you won't even call me by my name."

"I'm trying to be respectful."

"I'd rather you be my friend."

"I am, we are, I—"

You're interrupted.

The railing's given way, and Mirana is tumbling.

Falling.

Headfirst into the freezing water.

You shout as she crashes through the surface.

Watch, terrified, as she struggles to rise upward.

Then, she pauses.

Stops fighting.

It's a conscious decision, you feel it, though you couldn't even begin to guess why.

She sinks.

Panicked now, you dive off the roof.

The initial shock and cold knocks the breath out of you, but you keep swimming, grasping at the white always just out of reach.

Inches away, your lungs burn and freeze all at once.

Your pulse marches in your head, alerting your body you need oxygen.

 _Now_.

You grab onto lace, latch your arm more solidly around a too-thin waist.

Then your lungs give out, and you suck in a breath.

You suck in water.

* * *

You cough as you pull Mirana's limp form onto the magicked sidewalk.

She's breathing, barely, and her lips are blue.

You thump on her back until she's gasping into consciousness, choking as she coughs up the water from her lungs.

Once the immediate danger is out of the way, you wrap her in blankets, then yourself, though you're bewildered they're in the unfinished house at all.

Your family must have left them before heading back to the castle.

You and the queen— _Mirana_ were supposed to have gone back hours ago.

She coughs once more, jerking you out of your thoughts.

"Are you alright?" You ask, twitching hands hovering over her as she shrugs.

Then her face crumples inwards, only a hint, and the fact she's hiding damage means there's a lot to hide.

"I think I have a few splinters."

You stand to get the medical kit she had insisted they bring for other people; she grabs your hand.

"Tarrant... Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mirana."

* * *

A few splinters turn out to be several long and jagged pieces of wood sticking into her delicate skin.

You wince as you pull them out, she seems merely relieved.

She stares into the fire you'd made out of the other wood beams, the flames crackling merrily on the invisible sidewalk, seemingly burning atop the water.

You stare too, but at the lake that darkens in the absence of the sun, and you remember her near intentional brush with death.

"Why?" You ask in a murmur, facing her back, allowing her this shield from vulnerability.

She heaves a deep sigh; you dab at the blood that oozes from a particularly angry wound.

"I don't know. It was cold and terrifying, but in a way, it was peaceful. The desire to fight just wasn't there. I know it was incredibly selfish, but I was just so _tired_.

"It was only a moment. It won't happen again." She says at your silence, biting her lip.

"I should hope not. I couldn't bear to lose my friend, Mirana."

She smiles.

It's trembling and still slightly tinged with blue, but it is radiant.

"As I said before, I was being terribly selfish."

Carefully, ever so carefully, you lay your arm around her shoulder and hug her gently.

She is weak and heartbreakingly fragile, but her fingers cling to you, begging not to be let go just yet.

Loving queen, love starved.

"Will you take a break now?" You ask, she changes from relaxed tiredness to alert and alarmed.

"But there's so much work to be done! I need to fix your roof, reinforce the rails, and there are still so many people I haven't healed yet, and—"

You sigh, her gaze flicks to yours, and there's a different sort of frenzy there.  
Panic, and a sad sort of insecurity.

"Mirana, why do you try so hard to fix everyone?"

It dulls, and then hidden feelings clash behind those butterfly lashes.

"Atonement?" She asks meekly, you shake your head, corkscrews springing around as they've finally dried.

"There's nothing to atone for. Even if there was, you have paid it back tenfold."

She turns back to the fire, something other than orange shining in her brown orbs. She pulls her knees to her chest, and suddenly she's very small.

"I just... There's something inside me that promises, if I only think of others, if I help everyone, if I fix them, they'll love me.

"And if I love everyone and they love me back, then maybe I'd hate myself a little less."

* * *

It's been a week since the fall.

Iracebeth came and went, loud in between that, and you find yourself healing.

It still stings, but it no longer burns and torments.

Not quite bonkers, but no longer madness.

The castle is silent once more.

You almost miss the redhead's volume, if only because this quiet is rather deafening.

You haven't spoken to Mirana since the incident, and you're a bit ashamed.

You hadn't known what to say then.

Still don't now.

She understands, shares a smile with you anyway as you pass each other in the hall, but it's not enough.

She's back on duty, back to being queen, but your friend is missed.

You long to tell her you're finally working again, that a duchess required a hat.

But she is busy.

So you work.

It's like greeting an old friend.

You only wish you could speak to a different friend.

Instead, you focus on the duchess' order.

Diamonds sown into the side of an olive green fascinator, arranged to shape an ostrich.

Interesting choice, but you don't comment on customer's ideas, you just create them.

As the finished product shines in the light, diamonds twinkling decadently, you have nothing more to distract yourself.

And you don't really want to anymore.

You still don't know what to say, but it doesn't matter, you're going to see your friend.

* * *

"Hello Mirana," you say jovially, waltzing into the throne room.

"Tarrant, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I simply wanted to see my friend."

She beams at that, relaxes a fraction in her blue-in-silver chair.

"That looks rather uncomfortable," you state dazedly, staring at the strict lines the seat forces. She raises one shoulder delicately.

"It's said one must not have a comfortable throne, so as to not grow comfortable with power."

"Surely they allow for a little bit of luxury, after all, I'd imagine this chair cuts the flow of blood to your legs."

"I usually take short walks about the room when that happens."

You cannot tell if she's jesting.

Probably not.

"How are your citizens today?" You ask, changing the subject, staring out the window to the courtyard below.

She stands gracefully, the snowflakes shiver on her dress as she swishes next to you.

You watch the hustle and bustle of servants and nobles alike, all swift over marble to get to homes and dinners and parties.

And you realize, Mirana is up here, and must be up here often.

Alone.

"Why are you not at Lord Tennington's celebration? I know he invited you."

Her contented smile turns wistful.

"It was very kind of him to do so, but...well, I didn't want to intrude."

"It's not intrusion if you've been invited," you say.

You cannot understand her self-isolation when you know she so desperately and yet quietly yearns for companionship.

"He deserves to relax in his own home, Tarrant. I make him wary. I make all the nobles wary."

She walks back to her throne, sits proper and rigid on the stone.

The fragmented vision of her words start aligning, the picture becomes clearer.

She is a kind ruler.  
Considerate.  
Takes great pains to put others' happiness before her own, and it costs her much.

You'd rather be a hatter any day.

"I did attend a ball once, as queen," she says, the memory dancing behind her eyes.

"Not one I was obligated to attend, of course, or one I threw myself. Everyone was so beautiful, all shimmering and happy, glowing in their laughter. I thought to myself, _Look at the way they shine with their friends. Like diamonds. I wish I could do that_.  
"But I never seem to."

She pauses, a hand to her lips, as if to take back the private words that slipped through.

"You are not a diamond, Mirana. You do not need others' light to shine. You are a star, and you shine brilliantly all on your own."

It rings sincere, but hollow from across the room.

Her forever smile is freckled with appreciation, but resignation overlays it.

"So it would seem, I must shine alone."

It's not what you meant, not at all.

But you can't keep bungling things up with words, the best is to act.

So you do.

You grab her hand, she follows you willingly, a cloud of airy lace and sweet patience behind you.

"I refuse for you to stay here all night," you say, determined. "You're going to come with me, Mally, and Chess, and we are going to spend the evening with tea cakes and hunting borogroves until the shrieking beasties chase us off."

She laughs, doesn't protest in the slightest, and you feel this a small victory.

Not huge yet, but there's room for more victories in the future.

For now, it's time to chase after the shabby-looking birds and make Mirana laugh so hard she'll forget she's queen for a night, and to make sure she actually rests.

She still might shatter, has the right to.

But you're here, and you'll stay.

You'll watch the cracks.


	2. In The Beginning

**In the Beginning**

 _A/N: So I've jumped ships._  
 _This is a story about a couple you've probably never read before. However, they are now my favorite ship ever, even though they have never shared screen time while both of them were alive. :3_  
 _It's the Crims couple, or **Courting Hearts** , Iracebeth and her husband, **Acheonickolas**. Based off of roleplay threads on tumblr with irasciblempresse (if you have a tumblr, you MUST follow her, because she is the best Iracebeth EVER) and slumberingscarlet (that's ME, but feel free to ignore mine)._  
 _Anyway, I hope you read this, and that Courting Hearts begins to grow on you, because I love them more than RedTime (that's right, you heard me. It sounds blasphemous, I know, but give it a chance)._  
 _Let's consider this sometime after Looking Glass (and possibly after Wander Down), where Racie and Miri have made up, and Alice visits Marmoreal from time to Time (pun intended)._  
 _As always, I love your thoughts and comments._  
 _Love you all, kisses! 3_

* * *

"What did you do next?" Mirana asked, sipping her tea delicately, attentive to Alice as the blonde regaled her with tales of the adventures up above. Tarrant, Mally, and McTwisp all crowded around the table, chins on fisted hands, completely enraptured with her stories.  
"I beat him, of course! Won the game, and the cargo for half the price!"  
Cheers rang out, admiration for a great end to a great story.  
"But really," Alice said, gulping as she finished her tea. "What has been going on since I was last here?"  
"I won another tournament." Mally grinned, then pointed to Tarrant. "And _he_ won another dance competition." The mentioned Hatter shrugged modestly.  
"I've been on a good streak."  
Alice smiled, proud of him.  
"Of _course_ you won, you are an _excellent_ dancer."  
She was rewarded a blush for her compliment, sweet thanks indeed.  
"But what about the others? Iracebeth hasn't caused you too much trouble now, has she?"  
McTwisp shook his head, shivering a little at her name, though there wasn't much _cause_ to, anymore.  
"Not a peep. Keeps to herself, her and Time."  
"Time? But I thought they—"  
"No, they're together." Mally cut in, brusque and uninterested in this turn of the conversation.  
Mirana jumped a little in her seat, remembering something. She excused herself, her dreamy walk a little quicker than usual, returning with a single letter, Iracebeth's name written in faded red on the front. With a delicate flourish, she handed it to Alice.  
The parchment still smelled crisp, and faintly of pine.  
"Racie must have left this by accident, before she moved to Time's palace. Will you take it to her?" Mirana asked. "I would do it myself, and I hate to take your time away from your friends, but we've actually got a meeting to attend."  
"But Time told me never to return."  
"I'm sure he wouldn't mind, if it's for Iracebeth." Mirana said, eyelashes batting softly in request.  
"Oh, alright." Alice gave in. "But I don't see how this letter could be so important, to make her even _accept_ it from me."  
"She'll accept it." Mirana assured her, everyone beside her humming in somber agreement.  
It piqued Alice's curiosity.  
"And why is that?"  
Mirana's answer was soft.  
"Because it's from her late husband, Acheonickolas."

* * *

Acheonickolas. Of the North.  
Former king consort to the former queen.  
Kind, they said.  
 **Dead** , they said.  
For loving another woman, or so it was believed.  
Mirana said no evidence of it, just a paranoid queen and a convincing knave.  
Whatever the reason, it didn't give Alice much comfort when trying to knock on Iracebeth's door.  
It had been so easy, sneaking into Time's palace, sidestepping Wilkins, finding Iracebeth's part of the castle. Really, that had been the easiest part, red and gold dripped from the walls, more so the closer she got.  
But now she was here, fist at the ready, inches from greeting the ex-monarch.  
She could do it.  
She couldn't.  
Her hand grew tired, slipped on its own.  
She knocked.  
"TikTok, I said I needed some space to myself after our afternoon, I'm really _quite_ tired and I don't see why…"  
The redhead trailed off as she took in Alice's appearance. The chopped hair, captain's clothes, face flushed from jumping the clock hands and into Time's residence.  
According to her grimace, she was not impressed.  
"Why are you here?" Her yawn softened the words.  
A letter was shoved in her face as an answer.  
"Miranasaidyouaccidentallyleftthisandaskedmetogiveittoyoubecausesheandtheothershadameeting."  
Iracebeth blinked.  
"What?"  
"You left this behind." Alice said, once all her nervous breath had been released.  
Iracebeth squinted, pulling out a pair of pink heart spectacles, gasping as she recognized the handwriting.  
She snatched it away as quickly as she could without harming the paper, holding it close to her chest protectively as she glared up at the blonde.  
"You didn't _read_ it, did you?" She hissed, though some emotion similar to _fear_ rang in her shaking voice.  
For some reason, gave Alice courage, enough courage to be cheeky.  
"No, but may I?"  
" _Absolutely_ not!"  
Alice, full grown woman as she was, **pouted**.  
"Will you at least tell me what it's about? I came all this way, and there's nothing to do for _hours,_ and I almost got squashed by one of Time's clock hands, you know."  
At that, Iracebeth paused her attempts to shut the door in Alice's face.  
"Squashed, you say?" She asked, eyebrow raised.  
"Nearly as flat as a bug."  
Iracebeth's lips twitched at the imagined thought. Alice tried another tactic, hugging herself and shivering pitifully.  
"Can I at least warm up? It's positively freezing in these halls."  
"Then you shouldn't have come."  
"But I had to bring you this letter! Besides, what am I to tell Mirana?"  
At that, Iracebeth finally gave in with a long-suffering sigh. She turned, walking to the fireplace as Alice traipsed in after her. The door shut, and suddenly it became several degrees warmer. Iracebeth reluctantly handed her a cup of tea.  
Strong tea. And bitter.  
Alice struggled not to spit it out.  
Grinning smugly, Iracebeth sipped hers without any sign of distaste.  
"What's the letter about?" Alice asked again, blowing on her tea, pretending as if it was the heat that had created her spit-take and the only reason she wasn't taking another gulp.  
Setting down her cup, Iracebeth carefully opened the worn letter, angling so Alice had no hope of reading it on her own, brown eyes scanning the page quickly. Tiny lips lifting in some bittersweet memory.  
"Well?" Alice prompted. Iracebeth turned to her with a frown, pulled from her thoughts.  
"Did you really think I was going to tell you?"  
"I'll never leave until you do."  
A deep sigh.  
"Why do you care so much?"  
The question stumped her.  
Why _did_ she care?  
"Because… based on your smile, the man must have made you _somewhat_ happy, and—and I guess I'd just like to know why."  
"That is a terrible reason."  
"Please? Just—any details at all! What was he like? Why'd you marry him? At least tell me _something_ , even something as little as to when was this letter sent."  
A faint smile graced Iracebeth's lips as she thought about it.  
It looked nice on her.  
It even looked lovely.  
"I believe he sent this right before we officially started courting. He'd written to tell me he was going to visit…"

* * *

" _Dear Beth,_

 _I trust this letter finds you in good health.  
All politeness aside, I do hope you are well, and missing me.  
I am missing you a great deal, but not for much longer, as I am visiting soon!  
My family and I should be at Witzend in time for your debut celebration.  
And I have a surprise for you, one I think you'll like.  
Ever yours,  
Nick_

* * *

The teenaged crown princess had blushed, as scarlet as her hair. Delicate fingers had underlined every looping letter, memorizing the promises of the young duke's son until she could see them perfectly with her chocolate eyes closed.  
Nick was visiting her, and he was bringing her a surprise!  
It was enough to make her glow, her slightly oversized head tilting as she sighed impatiently, for the umpteenth time.  
They should have been here already!  
Fingers ticked nervously, hidden in the folds of her dress as she paced the halls.  
It was enough to make Mirana almost give an unladylike sigh of exasperation as Iracebeth whirled _another_ circle.  
"They'll be here soon, Racie, you needn't pace." She said, a patience she did not truly have twirling in her diamond voice.  
To prove her point, the clatter of hoofs rang from the cobblestones.  
Racie was gone in a flash and a swirl of skirts.  
"Nick!" She cried out as she raced down the steps as fast as her manners allowed, a bright grin on her face as she saw him. Slowing to a more respectable pace, she bobbed a tiny curtsy, holding her hand out regally.  
"Your Grace." She murmured, suddenly demure.  
Ocean eyes gazed up at her as the tall young man bent over, pressing a polite kiss to her hand.  
"Your Highness, pleasure seeing you again."  
At his kiss, she let out a _giggle_.  
"Believe me when I say the pleasure's all _mine_."  
A full out laugh, happy and for once carefree as she pulled him behind her, into the stable, back to the hidden and empty stall, still giggling as she reached up on tiptoes and _**kissed**_ him, full on the mouth.  
"I see you've let your hair grow out. And you've grown another foot. I can't reach you without a _stool_." She said once they'd stopped for air, carding her fingers through his sandy locks, pushing the strands out of his eyes. To prove her point, she hopped up on an abandoned bench, and indeed, he was still taller.  
"Just an inch of hair, hardly barbaric, and only half a foot taller! And I see _you've_ only grown more beautiful. Didn't think it was possible, and yet here you are." He said, eyes glowing in happiness, poking her side teasingly. She laughed, running her thumb along the strong ridge of his jaw.  
"You're full of it."  
"All I'm filled with is admiration for you, and happiness at seeing you again."  
And truly, he meant it. She kissed him again, blushing a deep pink as they pulled away.  
"Does that mean I get my gift soon?" She asked gleefully, clapping her hands together. He tapped her nose, just as excited to give it as she was to receive.  
"It's in my family's carriage, which is lagging a bit behind."  
"Why are you by yourself anyway?"  
"I was excited to see you?"  
Fists on her hips, she tapped her foot.  
"Well… that, and Ellainellis told me to get lost. But mostly the first thing! I can tell you what your present is right _now_ , if you want."  
"Your sister is terrible."  
"Present?"  
"Oh yes, tell me, tell me!" He laughed, hands resting gently on her shoulders, to steady her.  
"I managed to catch you… a Bandersnatch cub."  
Her happy shriek startled the horses in the stalls beside them.  
And then her little sounds of gratitude were mixed in between her tiny kisses on his face.  
Acheonickolas looked nothing but pleased.  
"You really brought me one?" She asked once she'd stopped attacking his face with affection.  
"Captured him myself. He's a cute little beastie too."  
She bit her lip, both to contain her further squeals and in embarrassment for her earlier exuberance.  
"I really am happy to see you again."  
"Only just now you are, eh?" He teased.  
It earned him a punch to the shoulder. Light as she was, he felt barely anything.  
"You know what I meant."  
"Does this mean I can ask to publically court you now?"  
"Niiickkk… don't you remember what I said the _last_ time you asked that?" Iracebeth whined, grabbing his hands.  
"Of course I do, but I'm _terribly_ fond of you."  
At that, she grinned, soaking in his affection like the sun's warmth.  
"I'm terribly fond of you too."  
"Then why can't we be terribly fond of each other _together_?"  
She wrapped her little arms around his neck, pretending to think long and hard over his question.  
"Well… I suppose it's hard to argue against such good sense."  
The kiss to her cheek made her giggle.  
"Indeed. So, Iracebeth Christina Hestia Basima Ahsmose of Crims, may I have _your_ permission to ask your _father's_ permission to officially court you?"  
"Mmm…"  
For her delay, she was punished with jabbing fingers, tickling her sides even through her corset, and she shrieked, gasping between laughs, desperate to get away and yet still inching closer to the devilish man.  
In the end, she collapsed on top of him, bringing them both down on the soft and thankfully _clean_ hay.  
"Fine, yes, yes you have it! You have me!" She laughed breathlessly, matching his joyous smile with a grin of her own.  
Then, they kissed.  
And kissed again.  
And again!  
As much as Iracebeth craved physical affection, it multiplied tenfold in this man's presence. Her feelings were so jumbled when it came to him, mostly because she didn't _want_ feelings, but she couldn't help it around him. He was funny, and kind, and completely sincere, and so very honest.  
The man could not lie, or at least not _successfully_.  
She loved him for it.  
And since she couldn't seem to put it into words, she let her lips do the talking for her.  
And she _enjoyed_ it. Quite a lot.  
"Racie, our parents are looking for—God and Goddess above!"  
Their embrace was interrupted by a shocked and slack-jawed Mirana, brilliant color lighting her cheeks. The redhead stood up, albeit reluctantly, with the help of Acheonickolas.  
"What do you _want_ , Miri?" She asked, harshly tugging her dress to a more acceptable state, too cross with being disrupted to be embarrassed at the compromising position they'd been caught in.  
"Er… Our parents wanted to talk to you. And um… Hello Acheo, good to see you again." Mirana muttered, still bright red, looking resolutely anywhere _except_ Acheo.  
Iracebeth huffed and grabbed his hand, pulling him with her, determined not to go alone.  
"You wanted to ask my father permission, I guess there's no time like the present. Let's go."

* * *

"As I'm sure you're aware, Iracebeth," King Oleron said, gazing at her from his throne, glaring slightly in confusion at the tall man behind her. "It's time to think about potential suitors."  
"Convenient that you should say that," Acheo started, shifting to Iracebeth's side, holding her nervously twitching hands. "Because I would like your permission in courting your daughter."  
'You?" Oleron laughed in mild surprise, missing his daughter's _flinch_ as he reached over to grab Elsemere's hand. "What could you possibly give to my daughter and the crown?"  
It wasn't that he wasn't fond of the boy, but when it came to the crown princess, it wasn't fondness he needed. A marriage was a contract, and he needed to know benefits could come with it.  
"Devotion, a loyal advisor she can rely on, and a Bandersnatch cub that can one day protect her." Acheo said confidently, never wavering, even as the redhead beside him nearly crushed his hand in hers.  
"That's not much…" The king muttered, even as Elsemere began to speak.  
"You are the _third_ son of the Duke of the North, is that correct?" She asked, Acheo nodded.  
"So there's not a high chance of you inheriting those lands."  
"I am the envoy of the North, Your Majesty, and that is not for nothing."  
"What are you hoping to get out of this?" Oleron asked, wondering if he was simply trying to raise his station in life, or, noticing the way he held Iracebeth's hand, wanted her for less than noble reasons.  
"Iracebeth. I just want her."  
It was a simple answer, but Acheo meant it with every inch of his heart.  
The king didn't believe that.  
Oleron leaned forward, growing irritated at the boy's obstinance, intent on making him realize he was not a good match for his daughter.  
"We've had several suitors whose betrothal gifts are _quite_ beneficial to this country, with proposals _much_ better than yours."  
Acheo's gaze never wavered.  
"With all due respect, are they beneficial to _her_?"  
"They are certainly better prospects than _you_ , arrogant child. You assume you are the best candidate for my daughter, even though she is _miles_ above your station, but I can assure you. You are _not_."  
" _I_ believe he is."  
Iracebeth's voice was quiet, but firm.  
"Father, I'd like to court Acheonickolas of the North, and I'd like your permission."  
"Iracebeth, you must see what a foolhardy thing this is, don't you? There are at least _ten_ other fine young men who would fit you better."  
"I don't want them."  
"Iracebeth dear," Elsemere said softly, hand clutching her husband's, calming his ire. "Won't you at least _consider_ these other men? They have land, and riches, and—"  
"I don't want those either. I'm not going to court anyone else."  
For once, Iracebeth was calm, even if she couldn't be dissuaded. She wanted to be with Nick too badly to ruin things with her quick temper and fiery tongue.  
"You have my permission for those _I've_ chosen for you." Oleron said, his tone clearly indicating that those were the _only_ people she had his permission to court.  
"I said I'd _like_ your approval, not that I _need_ it." She said, though disappointment was laced through her steel. She and Acheo turned to leave the throne room.  
After Elsemere dug her elbow into his ribcage, Oleron called to her.  
"Iracebeth," he sighed. "You obviously aren't going to change your mind. Court him. But when things fall apart, you will have to consider the people I've had in mind."  
Iracebeth nodded stiffly and quietly left, Acheo in tow.  
Oleron turned to Elsemere, grinning confidently.  
"I give them a week."

* * *

 _Relief and affection and giddy adrenaline wrapped up in one embrace.  
A gigantic smile, even as she trembled in nerves that wouldn't calm down.  
"It's happening, we did it. We're together... Do you—do you think we'll last?"  
The question was filled with hope and worry.  
He kissed her, soft and slow and full of promise.  
"I give us __**forever**_ _."_

* * *

Alice sighed.  
"That's all very romantic."  
Iracebeth hummed in agreement, in memory, then scowled as she realized where she was and _who_ she was with.  
"Why are you still here?" She asked petulantly. Alice just grinned, less intimidated by the former queen, now that she could imagine her as the teenaged crown princess.  
"I'm going now, just as promised." She said.  
She slipped past the doorway, popped back in, because she couldn't resist commenting.  
"Your Majesty?"  
A huff.  
"Yes?"  
"Acheonickolas, your husband… he seemed like a good man."  
"He was."

* * *

Then Alice was gone, the afternoon with her, and Iracebeth was alone again.  
She walked in echoing steps through Time's silent halls.  
Up the stairs, down a different set, a left and a right, two lefts and one more right.  
Continuous ticking replaced the silence, the life of Underland tocking away in gilded measurements.  
She chose to ignore the golden clouds, the side of life still moving, instead walking to the blue shadows. The forced quiet of ended time was eerie, but Iracebeth paid it no mind, drifting slowly through the alphabetized aisles.  
She shouldn't be here, it was self-torture, not to mention Time would _not_ be happy with this, but she couldn't help it.  
She never could, when it came to him.  
Shaking hands reached for the closed pocket watch, clasping it tightly to an aching chest.  
"Hello, Nick darling."  
A choked sound.  
A sob.  
A gasp.  
A whisper.  
"I really am happy to see you again."


End file.
